


I've Been Loving You

by madameofmusic



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Kent Parson Birthday Bash, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-27
Updated: 2016-06-27
Packaged: 2018-07-18 16:45:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7322989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madameofmusic/pseuds/madameofmusic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bitty moves to Vegas once he graduates to put his social media prowess to good use. There, Bitty meets Kent once more, and eventually, despite his initial dislike of the Aces captain, becomes friends with him. </p>
<p>And then, by complete accident, maybe a little more, according to everyone but Kent and Bitty. It's not a thing, until it is. </p>
<p>(For the Kent Parson Birthday Bash)</p>
            </blockquote>





	I've Been Loving You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [emmawalters](https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmawalters/gifts).



> You asked for Accidental Dating, and I hope I delivered! 
> 
> The title’s from Stay Stay Stay by Taylor Swift ([x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s-mBGUWf4rg)).

_ Now _

 

Kent enters his apartment to the sounds of pop music and an electric mixer whirring away in the kitchen suspiciously absent. 

“Bitty?” He calls out, frowning as he slips out of his shoes and hangs his keys on the key ring. 

Bitty’s keys are hanging right next to his, under the “Bless” in “Bless this Home”, so Kent knows he’s here. But it’s seven, Kent’s just gotten home from the rink, and normally Bitty’s already let himself in to make use of Kent’s kitchen, because he says it’s better than the one he has at his apartment, and it makes him sad that Kent doesn’t use it. Kent gets free food out of it, so he doesn’t much care either way.

It’s unsettling, not having that here now. 

“Eric?” He tries, stepping out of the entryway and into the living room. He finds Bitty there, stretched across the couch, earbuds plugged in and turned up so loud Kent can hear the melody of whatever he’s listening to leaking from the buds. 

He steps closer, and waves his hands, trying to get Bitty to notice him. He’d learned long ago not to scare Bitty, lest he end up on the business end of a shriek and a stray fist. Bitty blinks, and then looks over. 

Kent raises an eyebrow at him, and he sits up. “Hey, sorry,” Bitty says as he pulls his earbuds out and shuts his music off. He looks uneasy, like something’s bugging him, a change in his normally sunny demeanor. 

“Everything okay?” Kent asks, plopping himself in the recliner next to Bitty. 

Bitty starts to nod and then stops. “Kind of? I talked to Jack today.” 

Normally, talking to Jack makes Bitty happy, because Jack doesn’t get the chance to call very often between his own practices and all the side work he shoves into his free time with the Mini-Falcs program. Judging by Bitty’s grimace, today was different.

“Yeah?” Kent replies, drumming his fingers against the arm of the recliner. “Did you fight?”

Bitty shakes his head, looks down at his lap to where his fingers are tying his earbud cord in knots. He frowns, seems to mull something over for a moment before speaking again “Are we dating?” 

Kent freezes. “Uh?” That was not what he’d expected to come out of Bitty’s mouth.

Bitty looks back up at him. “I was talking to Jack, and telling him about how we went to that Cirque du Soleil show last week, and how the lady at the counter seemed to think we were together.” 

Kent grins. The ticket lady had called Bitty Kent’s boyfriend when she handed the ticket over, and it had been funny. Bitty was… too good for him, in his own humble opinion, and the fact that some random old woman had seemed to think they were together made him laugh. “He wouldn’t settle for me,” Kent remembers saying with a wink, before taking the tickets from her. 

“He said “Well, aren’t you?”, and I said no, but then Jack started asking about all the things we do together. And he kept promising that he was fine with it if we were and that he wouldn’t tell anyone.” Bitty bites his lip after he’s done talking, and stares at Kent, waiting for some sort of reaction. 

Kent is floored, to say the least. “Not that I’m aware of?” 

“I have a key to your apartment,” Bitty says, frowning still, confused. “You have a key to mine. We have drawers at each other’s places.” 

“We’re friends?” Kent crosses his legs and fiddles with the frayed fabric of the chair. “That’s a friend thing, right? We go out because we’re friends. We have drawers because I used to fall asleep at your place after Chopped marathons.” 

Bitty is still frowning, but he nods. “I guess. I told Jack that he was being silly.” 

Kent shrugs. He feels sick to his stomach, but he’s not sure why.

“Anyway.” Bitty stands. “Glad that’s cleared up!” He smiles at Kent, but it doesn’t reach his eyes, and the cheer in his voice is forced.

Kent’s known Bitty for over a year now, ever since he moved to Vegas to be a social media coordinator for some of the local venues around town. He’s come to recognize Bitty’s various states, and this isn’t a happy one, even if he’s trying to disguise it like it is.

It had been rocky at first. Bitty reminded Kent of everything Kent couldn’t have with Jack, and Bitty had heard enough from Jack about when they were together to form an opinion against Kent.

Things were sorted eventually, so they were good now. 

They weren’t  _ dating _ , though. That would be… Kent isn’t sure what it would be. 

Kent stands too, and they stare at each other for a second. They both begin talking at the same time, and Bitty laughs, before gesturing to Kent. 

“I have to be at the rink pretty early tomorrow, so I think I’m gonna turn in soon.” Bitty frowns, but nods. Kent knows that Bitty knows it’s a lie, because Kent never goes to bed before eleven, extenuating circumstances notwithstanding, and it’s barely past seven. 

Normally, he and Bitty would cook dinner and hang out at one or the other’s, depending on the night, But there’s a strange awkwardness between them that makes Kent want to curl up in a ball with Kit, and watch Golden Girls until he passes out. 

“You’re free to stay if you want. I know you like my TV more than the one at yours.” He teases, trying to lighten whatever has settled between them, wanting the crinkle of discomfort at the corner of Bitty’s eyes to go away. 

“Oh, uh.” Bitty shrugs. “Thanks, but I was just gonna say that I should head home. There’s a show coming up and I’ve gotta pull longer hours tomorrow, and you know how I need my beauty rest.” He laughs at the end, but it’s hollow. 

Kent nods. “Yeah, of course. Let me walk you to your car.” 

Bitty shakes his head. “No, it’s fine. You go to bed. Wouldn’t want you slipping and falling tomorrow on the ice because you’re tired.” A smile flickers across his face, more real this time, but small and sad. It’s also a flimsy excuse, but Kent can’t even figure out why he doesn’t want to hang out with Bitty, much less why Bitty doesn’t want to hang out with him. 

“Yeah, okay. See you tomorrow?” He asks as Bitty heads for the door. 

Bitty shrugs as he puts his shoes on, and grabs his key off the hook. “Maybe.” He doesn’t look at Kent as he leaves, shutting the door behind him. 

Kent stares at the wood for a second, unable to shake the feeling of unease off of him. He hasn’t had a night in weeks where he hasn’t hung out with Bitty that wasn’t a night where he was in another city, and certainly not when both of them were free. 

He ends up going to bed early anyway, Kit curled into his side, the feeling still following him as he falls into uneasy sleep.

\---

_ 18 Months Prior _

 

“Bitty is moving to Vegas.” Kent blinks and looks at the alarm next to his bedside table. It reads “5:34 AM” in obnoxiously bright numbers. 

“Kent?” The person on the other line says, drawing Kent out of his daze.

“What?” Kent pulls the phone away from his face and looks at the screen. “Zimms?”

A sigh. “Yes.”

“Zimms, it’s 5:34… 35, AM. Do you know how time zones work?” Kent’s having trouble putting into words exactly how confused he is that Jack is calling him so early. 

Jack sucks in a breath of air over the line. “Sorry Kenny.” He says, sounding not very sorry at all. “Anyway-”

“Jack, it’s 5:35 AM. Why are you calling me, it’s offseason.” Kent whines, flopping back against his bed, regretting everything. Mostly that he’d only been asleep two hours at this point, and is thus far too tired to deal with anything but the other side of his eyelids, but also whatever happened to Jack that made him think calling this early and waking Kent up is at all appropriate.

“Again, sorry. Can we focus?” Kent sighs, loud enough to convey his annoyance, and also loud enough that Kit sticks her head up from the end of his bed and glares at him the best she can. 

“Focus on what? The fact that you’re up ungodly early on a Wednesday-”

“Thursday.”

“-Thursday? Are we focusing on that?” Kent asks, pushing the blankets off of him. He has a feeling that this conversation is going to require him to be awake, fully, and for that, he needs his Keurig. 

Jack huffs again, and Kent can hear his eye-roll as he speaks. “Bitty is moving to Vegas.” He says again. 

Kent pushes the door to his bedroom open and groans at the sunlight streaming through his floor-to-ceiling living-room windows. “No offense, Zimms, but I fail to see why I needed to be up at 5:37 AM to know this.” 

He starts the Keurig and leans against the counter. Kit follows him from his bedroom, and sits at his feet, staring up at him. He stares back and thinks briefly about how whipped he is by his cat, considering he’s already reaching for her food, and she didn’t even have to meow for it. 

“-him up.” Jack’s voice echoes from the other line, and Kent stares at his phone in confusion where he’d set it on the counter. 

Right. Phone call. 

“What was that?” He cradles the mobile on his shoulder as he pours Kit’s food into her dish, and near drops it into her water bowl. 

_ “Kent.” _ Jack sounds exasperated, but really, after knowing someone for as long as he’s known Kent, Jack should know by now that he’s useless before his first cup of coffee. 

“Sorry, sorry. I’m listening now.” He takes a drink from his cup, forgetting how hot it is seeing as it’d just finished pouring, and almost drops it. “Fuck.” He hisses, setting the cup down and sticking his tongue out to cool it off. 

“Bitty is landing in Vegas in an hour, and I need you to pick him up,” Jack repeats. 

“You ‘eed ‘e t’pick ‘im ‘p?” Kent says, tongue still burning. “‘hy?” 

“Because he lost his credit card in the airport, so he can’t get a cab, and I’m across the country,” Jack says. “Please?” 

Kent sighs. “Okay. I’ll get your boyfriend Zimms, but you owe me one.” 

“He’s not-” Jack starts, and then sighs. “Thank you. I’ll text you his flight info.” 

Kent bids Jack goodbye a few moments later and ends the call. He looks down at Kit, now curled up on the island counter and dozing, and picks up his coffee mug again. “It’s too damn early for this shit.” He mutters, taking another drink and hissing once again when it’s still, predictably, hot.

 

Kent stands outside of McCarran International holding a piece of poster board with the words “Bitty Bittle” on the front. He shifts from where he’s leaning against his car and trying to simultaneously look through the crowd of people trailing in and out of the building for a short blonde, and avoid any hockey fans who may recognize him. He’s not in the mood to deal with sports bros this early in the morning.

“Kent?” Kent turns and comes face to face with Bitty. 

“Oh. Hey.” Kent tosses the sign through his car’s open window and opens the passenger door with a sweeping gesture. “Chauffeur Parson at your service, hop on in.” 

Bitty gives him an odd look and then does as he’s told. Kent slides across the hood and hops over the side of the convertible without opening the door. “Welcome to Vegas.” He says as he starts the car, and pulls out of the pickup lane. 

“My name is Eric,” Bitty says a moment later, closing his phone after he’s finished typing what Kent thinks was a tweet. 

“Uh?” Kent raises an eyebrow, and glances at Bitty. “My name is Kent?” 

Bitty snorts. “Your sign said Bitty Bittle. Bitty is a shortened version of Bittle.” 

Kent drums his fingers on the steering wheel as he waits for his turn to get out of the pickup zone to come. “Huh. Wouldn’t know that, considering that’s all Jack calls you.”

“You follow me on Twitter.” Bitty’s voice is flat, and if Kent didn’t know any better by his amused expression, he would have sounded irritated. As it was, though, it seemed he and Jack shared the same style of amusement-irritation fusion teasing. 

“Do I?” He asks, dragging out the o. As far as Twitter went, he didn’t much use it besides when PR bothered him to, or when he was linking pictures from Kit’s Instagram. 

Eric snorts. “Yes, Kent.”  

“Cool.” Seeing an opening in traffic, he guns it and switches lanes, passing a few more cars before he’s stuck again. He looks over, to where Bitty is now clutching his phone to his chest, and glaring at Kent. “Sorry. Airport traffic is nuts.” 

Bitty huffs. “Did Jack tell you where I was staying?” 

Kent grimaces. “Boulder Station, right?” 

Bitty nods. “You know, if you wanted, I could probably get you put up in a better hotel. Not the Luxor though.” 

Bitty tilts his head. “Why not the Luxor?” He asks, settling back in his seat and crossing his legs. 

“Banned. The entire team is.” Kent glances over and shakes his head at Bitty’s oncoming question. “Don’t ask. We have an NDA.”

Bitty’s jaw snaps shut, and he gives Kent an odd look. “Okay.” He says, and then shifts in his seat so he’s facing more towards Kent. “But no, I think I’ll be okay. It’s only for a few days while I wait for the furniture at my apartment to arrive.”

Kent shrugs. “If you say so.”

The rest of the ride is quiet and horribly awkward and Kent makes a mental note to make sure Jack knows he owes him one. Kent tries to make conversation a few times, but it becomes apparent that Bitty— _ Eric _ —either is grumpy (Jack always talks about him like the guy is the human personification of the sun, so Kent highly doubts that he’s grumpy), or has a problem with him, which Kent doesn’t blame him for. A lot of hockey fans who aren’t also Aces fans seems to have a problem with him, either because of the scoring or his nonexistent-except-in-the-media party debauchery. 

Kent drops Bitty off at the hotel and speeds away. 

As he walks up the stairs to his apartment, he pulls out his phone to text Jack back. He’s got three more messages from Jack, all sent while he was standing outside the airport. “Bitty says he’s getting his bags” “Bitty says he found you” “Thank you, Kenny”. He sends back a sunglasses emoji, and the words “you owe me.” 

Jack texts back a few minutes later, promising to buy him dinner the next time he’s in town. 

Kent considers asking Jack what Bitty’s problem with Kent is, but he doesn’t bother. Considering Jack isn’t always the most observant person in the world. He wouldn’t be surprised if Jack didn’t know anyway. Besides, it’s not like Kent’s probably ever going to see him again.

\---

_ Now _

 

Kent wakes up the next morning to a notification that early practice has been canceled in favor of a later practice, on account of some issue with the ice. Kent doesn’t bother to read beyond “practice moved to 12:00”, and rolls over to go back to sleep. 

Except, last night comes rushing back to him all at once. He rolls back over, and grabs his phone, pulling up he and Bitty’s thread. Bitty’s name at the top is nothing but a peach emoji, a music note emoji, and 100 emoji. He knows for a fact his own name in Bitty’s phone is nothing but the sunglasses face.

He types up a few things, before finally settling on “good luck on your long day”. His phone buzzes not a minute later.

“Thanks.” Kent frowns. It’s not irregular of Bitty to respond like that if he’s tired, or stressed, but last night has Kent overthinking things way too much, and the curt response makes him think Bitty’s mad. He can’t think why, though. The weird feeling from last night returns in full force. It feels like he’s missing something, or misunderstanding, like something’s on just the edge of his consciousness and he can’t quite see it.

He falls asleep again and wakes up twenty minutes before he’s supposed to be at the rink. 

He stares at the ceiling, and sighs loudly, overdramatically, and with great effort, because  _ dammit _ . He’s going to be the last one there, and by Aces rule (set by himself, no less), the last one to the rink has to collect the pucks at the end of practice.

“I’m the captain.” He mutters to himself as he pulls on under-armor and his running shoes, barely remembering to grab his keys and wallet as he rushes out the door. “I should be exempt from puck duty.” 

He makes it with two minutes to spare, and, as predicted, is the last one there. Swoops and Jensen start up a round of ooh-ing as soon as he walks through the door. 

He waves them off as he puts his pads on, rolling his eyes at the wall. “You up late last night with your boyfriend, Parser?” One of his teammates teases. 

“S’that why your hair’s all messed up? Parser got too caught up doing his boy to do his hair,” another one shouts out, earning laughs and high-fives from the guys around him. 

Kent, under the guidance of his GM and the head coach, came out to the guy’s a year after he made captain. Most of them took it in stride and the few who didn’t learned to keep their mouths shut, or were traded away. There’d always been rumors, but Kent got lucky with his team. No one ever confirms anything, and they make sure that any guy who doesn’t agree with Kent’s orientation gets over it.

Kent loves his team, most of the time. Right now is not one of those times. 

“I don’t have a ‘boy’. I just forgot to set an alarm.” He says, back still facing the room. 

Swoops looks over from the stall next to him. “Bullshit, dude. We’ve all seen him.” 

Jensen pipes up from his other side. “Yeah, Parser. Little blonde guy, brought us pies after the conference final last year?” 

Kent arches an eyebrow. “Bitty? Nah.” He says, bending over to roll up his socks. “He wouldn’t date me. Have you seen him? Way too put together for someone like me.” 

Apparently, it sounds a little less joking then he means, because Jensen leans over, and pats him on the shoulder. “He’ll come around, Kent.” 

Kent gives him an odd look, but shakes it off. Practice is about to start, and if there’s one thing he doesn’t need, it’s to be thinking about why there’s pity in Jensen’s eyes. 

\---

_ 14 Months Prior _

 

The buzzer sounds as his shot hits the back of the net, and Kent drops his stick in the celly that follows. His entire team crushes around him, and he’s not even aware he’s laughing for a second. Jensen has one arm around his back, and he feels Gunner wrap another around his legs. Before he knows it, he’s lifted into the air, his teammates cheering as the carry him to the locker room. They won, 4-3 against the Falconers in their home opener, and Kent scored the point that tied them thirty seconds before the third period ended, and the point that won them the game. 

He’s floating right now, happy, because they won, and because every newscaster up to that point in the season had been saying they were going to lose. Kent Parson, though more experienced than his Q linemate Jack Zimmermann, lacked the natural talent the Falconer center (and new Captain) had, and the Aces as a team lacked the discipline that came from the older members of the Falconers. That had been what the news was saying for weeks now, just because the Aces had lost the last two seasons against the Falconers which had coincided with Jack’s first two seasons with his team.  _ Shows them wrong _ , Kent thinks, grinning as his team sets him down by his stall. He begins stripping down, knowing reporters will be flooding the locker room any minute to ask him a billion questions about Zimms, as they always do every time their teams play one another. Jack’s overdose, Kent being the first pick, and everything that followed are still hot topics, even in Jack’s third season.

He doesn’t want to answer any of them. Zimms and he are good, now that they’ve figured their shit out, and the media doesn’t want them to be. Kent Parson, quite simply, has no time for that bullshit. 

He avoids every question asked of him that night that has any relation to Jack with artful redirection and manages to get out of the locker room only forty minutes after the game, a record time for a win like that. 

He checks his phone and sees a text from Jack. “We’re outside.”

Kent snorts and hits the call button next to Jack’s name. “You know, 'we’re outside' gives me no clue as to where exactly you are. Vegas is a big city, Zimms,” he says as soon as the line connects.

“Hello, Kent.” The voice on the other end is downright frosty. 

“Eric?” He frowns. Jack didn’t say Eric was coming, but then again Kent should have assumed Jack would bring his boyfriend. 

“Yeah,” Bitty says. “Some reporters found Jack out front and have backed him into a corner. I tried telling him not to be so polite and tell them to go away, but he didn’t listen.” Bitty’s voice has gone fond now,  _ and isn’t that just the sweetest _ , Kent thinks to himself. 

“Oh. Well, my car’s in the back lot. I’ll come drive by and grab you guys.” He says, and then hangs up. Kent’s a little miffed that Bitty is apparently crashing his and Jack’s night to hang out, but not miffed enough that he’s gonna give up making up time with Jack after six and a half years of not talking to him. 

As promised, Kent pulls his car around and rolls down the window. He whistles sharply to get Bitty’s attention, and then waves at him. 

Bitty says something to Jack, who says something to the vultures disguising themselves as media, and walks towards Kent’s car as fast as he can. They both pile in, Jack in the front, and Bitty in the back. 

“Congrats on your win, Kenny,” Jack says, looking over at him and smiling. Jack has changed, jealousy tampered down in favor of quiet contentment, and it looks good on him. A few years ago, Jack wouldn’t have been able to look him in the eye after a win like that without it being a fight. 

Kent hates to say it, but it’s in part because of Bitty. Bitty’s made him more even, calm, less willing to equate success in hockey as anything more than just another point in the win/loss ratio throughout the season.

On his worst of nights, Kent wants someone like that for himself. 

“Thanks, Zimms,” Kent says, holding out his hand for a fist bump. “That was a great fucking goal in the first period, though. Woulda cried if I wasn’t trying to figure out how the hell you’d gotten past Gunner so quick.” 

Jack laughs. “It’s a mystery.” 

Kent’s pulling out of the parking lot when he remembers Bitty’s in the car. “Oh, yeah. Eric, are you coming to dinner with us?” Kent asks, begrudgingly. 

Eric shrugs. “If you don’t mind,” he says, though both he and Kent know that Kent minds. 

“Of course not Bits. You’re always welcome. Right, Kenny?” Jack says, smiling at both of them. 

Kent smiles back, for Jack’s sake. “Of course.” 

 

They get to the restaurant, eat in a relatively companionable atmosphere, and Jack doesn’t even try to fight him for the check when it comes. 

“My city, my meal Zimms.” Is what Kent says, as he pulls the check to him and places his AmEx inside. 

Jack, one arm slung around the back of Bitty’s chair in a way that could pass as friendly if anyone saw, the other one resting on his stomach, shrugs. “Fair enough. When you come to Providence, I’ll buy then.” 

“And you’ll buy when I win the Stanley Cup this year.” Kent teases, flashing Jack a smirk. 

“I think you mean when I win.” Jack teases back, amused. 

Kent snorts. “Either way, I get a free meal.”

After his card comes back and he’s signed off on the slip of paper, Kent stands. “So, what now? Any other day, I’d call it a night, but you’re only here until Sunday, right? So we gotta see some Vegas sights.” 

Jack nods in agreement and looks over at Bitty. “I heard there were some good clubs in town?” 

Kent arches his eyebrows, genuine surprise washing over his face. “Jack Zimmermann wants to go to a club? Did I get knocked out by that brute Russian of yours and am lying in a hospital bed right now?” 

Jack rolls his eyes. “Tater isn’t that much bigger than me.” 

Kent scoffs. “Yeah, but you’re already bigger than me. That’s like, twice bigger.” 

Jack shoos him towards the door. “Kent, c’mon. Club, go.” 

Kent holds up his hands and walks through the door of the restaurant. “I’m going, don’t rush me.” He stops and checks the time. “There’s a club around the corner that is usually pretty low-key this time of night. Lot of higher end people end up there, and they keep it discreet.” He says pointedly, looking between Jack and Bitty. 

Jack raises an eyebrow. “Sure,” Bitty says, avoiding Kent’s eyes. “Let’s go. See if I can’t teach you how to dance, Mr. Zimmermann.” He looks up at Jack, and Kent feels nauseous for a second at the pure adoration they share in the look. 

“Come on lovebirds, get a move on.” 

 

The club is only half full, and absent of the loud EDM that seems popular in a lot of other clubs in the area. Mostly, it’s pop remixes and R&B stuff that’s easy to dance to. Bitty near immediately drags Jack to the dance floor, leaving Kent to fight to the counter for their drinks. 

He orders Jack a beer because he remembers Jack telling him a while back he doesn’t much drink anymore, and himself a Long Island Iced Tea. He isn’t sure what Bitty drinks, so he orders the sugariest drink he can think of, and calls it good. 

He settles in a booth in the corner and watches Bitty try to teach Jack how to dance while he waits for the drinks. It’s interesting, watching them together. Jack lights up around Bitty like he never did around Kent. He still, despite Bitty’s trying (and Kent’s, years earlier) can’t dance.

It took Kent a long time to accept that Jack hadn’t felt the same way about Kent as Kent had felt about him. He was mostly okay now, except times like this. 

He’s glad when their drinks come because it gives him something to do besides stare at his ex and his boyfriend. 

He plays with the umbrella the bartender stuck in the drink, lost in thought. He’s not jealous, and he’s not sad. He’s just… wanting, for someone like that to come along and make his days brighter. 

“Is this mine?” Bitty’s voice breaks him out of his thoughts. He looks up, and nods. 

“Wasn’t sure what you wanted.” Bitty shrugs, and takes a sip, before sitting down across from Kent. 

“This is fine.” He says, taking another drink and looking out over the dance floor, head bobbing softly to the beat. 

“Where’s Jack?” Kent asks, scanning the crowd to see if he can see Jack’s head over the rest of them. 

Bitty rolls his eyes and sighs. “Off trying to woo some girl. I told him it ain’t ever gonna happen if he doesn’t fix his dancing, that not everyone is into being charmed by hockey as I was, but he’s determined.” Bitty looks at Kent and smirks at him. “The girl was wearing a Falconers sweater. Told him all he’d have to do is go talk to her.” 

Kent is in a state of pure shock. “What?” He manages, fingers stilling over the plastic umbrella. 

Bitty stares at him. “What part of that do you need help on?” 

Kent narrows his eyes, half-glares at Bitty. “None of it. I just thought that you two were dating?”

Bitty snorts. “Lord, no. Not since the end of my first semester as a junior. We’re just friends.” 

“Nothing more?” Kent asks, still confused. Because honestly, it was shaking his worldview a little bit. Jack still talks about Bitty like they were dating, and Bitty still looks at Jack like he hangs the moon. 

Bitty shakes his head. “Nope.” He says, popping the p. “Jack and I decided we were better as friends.” 

Kent shifts back in his seat. “Huh.” 

Bitty tilts his head, frowns a bit. “Did you really think that we were still together?” 

Kent nods. 

“Huh. I figured Jack would have told you.” Bitty says. At that moment, Jack comes back and plops down next to Kent. He smells like the club and sweat, and Kent pushes him away. 

“You smell like a locker room Zimms, geeze. Aren’t you an athlete?” Kent asks, laughing. 

Jack picks up the beer and takes a long drink from it before speaking. “Dancing is hard.”

Bitty huffs. “Did you at least get her number?” 

Jack pulls a face and presses the bottle to his lips again, mumbles something around the opening. 

“What was that, honey?” 

“Said her boyfriend was a Bruins fan, didn’t seem too pleased to see her dancing with me.” He mumbles again, louder.

Kent laughs, covering his face. “Jesus, Zimms. You have the worst luck with women.” 

Jack elbows him. “Maybe I should stick with men.” 

Bitty looks between Jack, Kent, and then down at himself. “Well, it would seem you have better taste in that area.” 

Jack laughs, and slides away from the booth, holds out a hand to each of them. “C’mon. Bitty said he’d teach me to Doobie?” 

Kent and Bitty share a look and then stand. “Think you mean Dougie, Zimms.” 

\---

_ Now _

 

Kent throws the last puck in the bin and sighs. The rest of the guys have already been off the ice for ten minutes, and the thunk-thunk-thunk of the pucks falling into the bucket is driving him a little mad. 

Practice had been terrible. Kent missed every shot he’d tried to make, and they weren’t clicking tonight no matter how hard he pushed them. 

They had a game the next night, and they couldn’t afford to play like this. Their playoff spot was sitting in the balance. 

He gathers up the last puck, and skates the bucket off, dropping it by the equipment door as he passes by. When he gets back in the locker room, most of the other guys have already showered up and headed home. The few that remain are packing their bags and tightening up their stalls. Kent waves to Gunner as he passes by, stripping off his pads as he walks. 

He sits for a second once he gets to his own stall, and breathes. 

When he had a therapist, his first season of playing for the Aces, after Jack’s overdose and subsequent disappearance, she’d told him that the practices were just that, practice. That if he let every bad practice weigh on him, he’d never get better at managing himself. 

She taught him a few breathing exercises and a few mantras to repeat to himself when he had a bad practice. He murmurs them to himself now, hands balling into fists around the sweater in his lap.

When he feels more steady, he strips the rest of his pads off and changes into looser fit clothing. He has conditioning right after this, one of the unlucky ones that drew the training short straw. 

He heads to the gym part of the rink and sets to his workout. He pushes himself harder today than he normally does, telling himself that maybe he can work out the weird energy that’s settled over him since the night before. 

At the end of his workout, the trainer is happy, but he still feels weird, unsettled. 

He heads home, not bothering to shower there. He has one of those fancy waterfall showers at home, and that sounds far nicer than a nasty locker room shower ever could. He considers a bath, that maybe a nice bath bomb and some loud bubblegum pop will soothe him, but he writes it off. He’s too tired to do anything but wash himself off and drop into bed for a nap. 

\---

_ 12 Months Prior _

 

In retrospect, Kent probably should have just canceled. 

“What?” Bitty’s voice echoes over the phone, confused and a little bit irritated. 

“Jack canceled on me, so now I don’t have a plus one for the charity banquet tomorrow, and I need one. Please?” Kent’s desperate. His teammates are all already going with dates of their own, and he doesn’t have many other friends.

Okay, so besides Jack, he doesn’t have any other friends that aren’t also teammates. It’s whatever. 

Bitty sighs on the other end. “Why me?” 

Kent huffs. “Because I need someone who I can trust not to do anything stupid, like say something grossly racist or offend a sponsor.” 

“And why do you assume I’d be good at that?” 

Kent groans. “Oh, I dunno. Because you already did it with Jack? Bitty, please. You’re my only hope.” 

Bitty’s silent, and then-

“Was that a Star Wars reference?” Kent’s head thunks against his kitchen cabinet.

“No.” He says. “Look, nevermind, I’ll just try-”

“I’ll do it,” Bitty says, and Kent perks up.

“Really? You will?” He asks, and the pauses. “Why?” 

Bitty snorts. “Because if it’s a thing with a lot of bigwigs, I can make connections there. I’m in a PR position right now for show scheduling, but I wouldn’t mind trying to get back into hockey stuff. Also, you’ll owe me one.” 

Kent huffs. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll pick you up at six.” 

“Mhm. Wear something nice.” Bitty says and hangs up. 

Kent glares at his phone. “Wear something nice? I’m the  _ fucking-” _ He breathes, and looks down at Kit. “Wear something nice, my ass.” He mutters, nudging her out of the way with his foot so he can get her food. 

 

The next night, Kent pulls outside Bitty’s apartment building five minutes late. He would have been on time, early even, but Kit had decided to throw up on the slacks he’d picked out, so he’d had to dig through his closet to find another pair. Except, he didn’t have any more gray ones, so he’d had to put on a whole different suit combination. 

If that was any indication of how the rest of the night was going to go, Kent was fucked. 

“You’re late.” Bitty slides into the car and shuts the door behind him. 

“A wizard is never late.” Kent mumbles as he pulls away and shrugs at the raised eyebrow Bitty gives him. 

“So, anything I should look out for today?” Bitty asks, tapping away at his phone. 

Kent drums his fingers against the steering wheel and thinks. “Uh, don’t take any drinks from Gunner. He’s charmed the bartenders into making all his drinks doubles. Oh! Also, don’t talk to the Daily.” 

Bitty stops typing, and looks over at Kent. “Why?” 

Kent avoids his eyes and flushes. “Just. Don’t talk to them. They have it out for me.” 

“Kent-” 

“Just. Look nice and tell everyone I brought you because you’re an old friend of Jack’s and that Jack couldn’t be there even though he wanted to be. And then don’t say anything else, because Las Vegas reporters are ruthless.” 

Bitty nods, and resumes tapping away until they reach the event hall. 

There’s no red carpet or anything, but they do have to pause for a picture. They stand side-by-side and smile, and Kent prays it doesn’t look too forced. He hates any fancy events and was only going to go because he and Jack always made fun of them in a quiet mixture of French and English under their breaths as they stifled their giggles. 

But Jack had called the day before last and said that the Falcs had some emergency meeting or another, and he needed to stay as their captain. Kent understood of course, but he wasn’t happy. Jack had suggested calling Bitty, told Kent that he’d taken him to a few events before and managed to charm everyone there, and teased that he’d probably be good for Kent’s image. 

Kent had told him to fuck off but still ended up calling Bitty the next day. 

The actual food part of the banquet is great. It’s Vegas, so the meal at any catered event tends to be pretty sweet. It’s the rest of it he hates. 

As captain, he’s supposed to represent the spirit of the team the most, which basically just means he has to stay sober and kiss sponsor ass, and talk to every media representative there about the team and its charity missions. 

Bitty, he comes to find out, radiates media-ready poise like it’s his mission. He talks to just about everyone Kent has to and walks out with several casino owners numbers programmed into his phone with the direction to “call them if he’s ever looking for something a little different work-wise.” Kent’s so impressed he can’t even be jealous. 

They manage to get out of there a bit earlier than normal, and the first thing Kent does when they’re back in his car is loosen his tie and try not to scream. 

“You alright there?” Bitty asks, looking amused. 

Kent sighs and rubs at his eyes. “Yes. I just. Want to play hockey. Not do all this other bullshit.” He says, and then grimaces. “Sorry.”

Bitty shakes his head. “No worries. Jack was the same way.” He says, settling back in his seat as Kent pulls away from the curb. 

“Thank you, by the way, for coming tonight,” Kent says, looking over at him. “You made my job easier.” 

Bitty smiles, warm and easy. “No problem.” 

 

He gets a text from Bitty the next day. Their picture is in the news section of the Aces website, along with a few candids of his teammates and Aces staff. 

They look horribly awkward, and it makes Kent laugh. He’s usually fairly photogenic, and he has a feeling Bitty is too, but this photo looks like a pre-prom picture, both of them standing stiffly, and resolutely Not Touching. 

Kent makes it his background and laughs every time he opens his phone. 

A few weeks from then, he has to attend another event, some sort of Media Thank-You. Bitty and he have spent every day up to that point texting back and forth, so he doesn’t hesitate before calling him this time. It just makes more sense, Bitty instead of Jack for things like this, especially since Jack already flies around the continent enough as it is. Bitty’s just as much fun, and he looks natural talking to fancy people, so it’s okay. 

That, and Bitty’s becoming his friend. Kent’s strangely okay with that part, too. 

\---

_ Now _

 

Kent wakes to the sound of pounding on his front door. He jolts upward, laptop toppling off his chest and careening off the side of his bed. He winces at the thunk but steps over it in favor of rushing to the door. 

He opens it, and there’s Bitty. He looks nervous, rocking back and forth on his heels as he fidgets with the hem of his shirt. Kent frowns, but steps aside and lets him through. “Why the banging?” He asks once the door’s shut behind them. “You have a key.” 

Bitty stops in the front entryway, and shrugs. “I needed to talk to you, and I wanted to make sure you were home.” There’s something unspoken behind Bitty’s words, and Kent can’t figure out what it is. 

“Oh, alright.” He looks down at himself and sighs. “Let me go put some pants on. Make yourself comfortable.” 

Kent returns a few minutes later. Bitty’s tucked into the corner of the couch, legs pulled to his chest. He looks small, like he usually doesn’t. Bitty’s personality can fill a room, and the absence leaves a mark. 

“So, you wanted to talk?” Kent sits opposite of him, crossing a leg over the other and studiously avoiding looking at Bitty. 

“Kent, I-” Bitty stops, and takes a breath. “Last night, when I asked you if we were dating.”

“It’s okay,” Kent interrupts, tilting his head just enough to glance at Bitty out of the corner of his eye. “We don’t need to-”

“We do. We have to talk about it, Kent, because it’s driving me crazy. I can’t stop, and I-” Bitty takes another breath, and then angles his body so he’s completely facing Kent now. “What if I want to date you?”

The question makes him freeze and stiffen, posture going painfully rigid as his head snaps over to stare at Bitty. “I-”

Bitty’s lips are pursed, and he’s drawn his knees even closer, arms pressing them as close as he can to his chest. “I’m sorry. That’s a dumb question. I’m probably not even your type, and honestly, it probably seems pretty sad that the only two people I’ve ever felt anything for in the last five years are NHL stars.” 

“Bitty-” Kent tries, but he keeps rambling. 

“It’s just you make me so happy? And last night I didn’t sleep and I couldn’t focus today because the idea of me dating you, of- of us, kept running through my head, and really-”

“Bits-” Kent’s figured it out now, why he was so upset last night. 

“-If you want to ignore this it’s fine, I get it. We don’t have to talk about it and I’ll get over it, I promise, just don’t-” Bitty meets Kent’s gaze, and the warm, honey brown of Bitty’s eyes has gone watery. “Just don’t shut me out okay? You’re the best friend I’ve got here, and I don’t want a stupid crush getting between that.” Bitty takes a deep breath, and then looks away again, frowning still. 

“Eric?” Kent scoots closer and sets a hand on top of Bitty’s. He wants this just as bad as Bitty does, wants Bitty intensely and wholly. 

“Hm?” Bitty doesn’t look at him, doesn’t move. His eyes are shut tight, nose scrunched up from the force he’s putting behind resolutely  _ not _ looking at Kent. 

“You’ll have to promise to be understanding with me,” Kent says.

Bitty takes a shaky breath. “Of course.” 

“And you’ll have to forgive me if I forget to call on roadies, or if I get a little lost in myself during playoffs.” 

Bitty cracks open an eye. “What?” 

“And I’m really terrible at remembering dates, so I might forget Valentine’s day or anniversaries, but I’ll try, okay?” 

Bitty opens both eyes, and gapes at Kent. “Are you- What are you saying?” 

Kent grins at him and squeezes his hand. “I think I’d like to date you too, if that’s not too much trouble.” 

Bitty gasps, and then laughs a shocked, high-pitched manic laugh. “Kent Parson, you-” He unfolds himself from the ball he’s tucked himself into and launches himself at Kent. They collide painfully, heads knocking together with a dull thud. 

Neither of them care too much. 

“Eric Bittle, date me?” Bitty nods, wrapping his arms around Kent, still laughing. Kent tucks his face into Bitty’s shoulder and starts laughing himself. 

His bad mood from earlier is completely gone, evaporated and replaced by an elation that he couldn’t describe in any sort of coherent way if he tried.

Bitty turns his head just enough to press a soft kiss to Kent’s jaw. 

“You missed.” Kent mumbles.

“What?” Bitty asks, brow furrowing. “I-”

“You missed,” Kent repeats, and then leans in to press his lips against Bitty’s. “Like this.” He cups Bitty’s jaw, and drags a thumb across his cheekbone, reveling in the feeling of Bitty here, close,  _ kissing him _ like he means it. 

They stay there like that for a long few minutes, trading soft kisses interspersed with softer laughter, tangled up on Kent’s couch, before Bitty speaks. 

“I think everyone else knew we were together before we did.” He says, pulling back just enough to look at Kent. His hands are threaded in the back of Kent’s hair, fingers wafting through the soft strands gently.

Kent snorts. “Apparently.” He smiles and presses his forehead to Bitty’s. “S’okay though. We figured it out eventually.” 

Bitty closes his eyes, smile curling up the corners of his mouth impossibly wide. “We did.” 

\---

_ One Year Later _

 

“You’re sure your parents will like me?” Bitty reaches over and threads his fingers through Kent’s. 

“I’m positive. Now come on. Mama’ll be mad if we’re late for lunch, and then we’ll never hear the end of it for nothin’.” Bitty says, tugging him towards the small white house that Bitty grew up in. 

Bitty pushes the screen open and calls out. Immediately, a woman Kent’s only seen in a few Skype calls in passing pops out from around the corner, wearing an apron. 

“Dicky!” She says, and rushes for her son, enveloping him in a hug. “Oh honey, how are you?” 

Bitty smiles. “Good mama.” He steps back and gestures at Kent. “This is my boyfriend, Kent.” He says. 

Suzanne turns an appraising eye on him for a second, before giving him the same sunny smile she gave her son, and wrapping him in a hug too. “It’s so nice to finally meet you for real instead of through a computer, Kent.” She says, letting him go. 

She leans over to her son and whispers something that makes Bitty light up like a firetruck.  _ “Mother.” _ He rolls his eyes but grins anyway. “He is, though.” 

Before Kent can ask, a man comes in through the back door. “Junior.” He walks towards Bitty and wraps him in a hug. “Good to see you, son.” 

“Hi, Coach,” Bitty says, returning the hug. “Coach, Kent.” He points towards Kent. 

Bitty’s dad steps closer and folds his arms across his chest. He’s taller than Kent by two inches and far broader. He looks like a football player, and Kent’s a little scared. 

The man’s expression is blank, his eyes flicking over Kent and making him feel a little bit like a bug under a microscope. Finally, the man sticks out a hand and grins at him. “Nice to meet you.” 

Kent shakes it, a little dazed. “Thank you, sir. Nice to be here.” He says, shaking Mr. Bittle’s hand once before dropping it. 

Coach turns to Bitty. “This one’s a bit more your size, ain’t he?” 

Bitty chokes and turns bright red. “Coach!” 

Kent tries to smother his laughter but is unable. He claps a hand over his mouth and shoots a mirthful look at Bitty, who glares back. 

“Now tell me, son, how do you feel about football? Because let me tell you, Junior’s last boyfriend wouldn’t know a football if it hit him in the face. Boy knew hockey, and that was it.” Coach wraps an arm around Kent’s shoulders and leads him away from Bitty and Suzanne, to the grill in the backyard. “But Junior tells me you’re American.”

“I like the Giants?” Kent offers. He can throw a football, sometimes he watches a game or two if he’s got nothing else going on, and he went to the Superbowl a few years ago. He grew up playing touch football on the playground just like every other kid, but he’d hadn’t played at all since he’d started taking hockey more seriously. 

Coach tuts. “Well, there’s no accounting for taste.” Coach says, and then starts talking about the Bittle Family Annual Fourth of July football game, telling Kent all about it as he cooks.

Kent meets Bitty’s eyes through the kitchen window as Coach rambles about last year’s game and smiles. 

Bitty smiles back, and then turns away to continue talking to his Mom. 

He’s in Madison, Georgia, in December. It’s 65 degrees outside, he’s playing the best hockey of his life, he’s in love with a boy, and he’s okay. 

It’s more than he ever wanted. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> A big thank you to emmawalters for a great prompt, and another to jackzimmermann and idrilka for such an awesome event.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed!


End file.
